Toga Knives Novels & Stories

Professor Pops chuckled, and I couldn't help the smile that curled up on my lips. "Let's not count on it." He stroked my head with his free hand, and I drew in a deep breath, enjoying his smell: Old books, paper, and cigars. After several minutes I pulled away and considered him. "I'll be stronger, which will make it more difficult for me to die, but I can be killed the same as any human." It was a statement. One that I knew, as I spoke, was correct. "Exactly." He held the blade, still sheathed in a black cover, in both hands. "This is called a jokoto or katana, which is the now universal term."

“Exactly! Sure, all those printed knives look great, and they do symbolize us Drogar. Heavens, I’ll even go so far as to say they’re necessary. Their affordability means every single one of us can have one. After all, a Drogar without a blade is completely unfathomable. “But for me, those of us who pour ourselves into our blades - we help keep the soul of the Drogar deeply embedded within the metal itself. It’s our knives that well and truly define what a Drogar is, you know what I mean?” “I do, definitely,” Eva said resolutely. “Hell, I’m not a knife person, but even I would wear one of yours. Would you make one for me? Is it even possible for me to own a Drogar knife?” Being the arbiter of

I eventually picked up both before moving over to the table holding the knives. All sorts of blades laid there, their steeles ever so shiny. Cleavers, slicers, carving forks, you name them. I picked up a cleaver, two slicers, a cheese knife and a pair of scissors. I threw all of them into the backpack, the guns inclusive. I grabbed two chains before climbing back up the stairs.